


They say you won't come back.

by sjoqvist



Category: DCU, Young Justice, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:17:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sjoqvist/pseuds/sjoqvist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy refuses to admit that he's a ginger. Dick proves him otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They say you won't come back.

**Author's Note:**

> For Bel!

”I’m _not_ a ginger,” Roy repeated for the fifth time, staring down at the grinning, irritating face of his younger friend.

It all started like it usually did – Dick came over to hang out in Roy’s apartment (because apparently living alone was cool enough for the Boy Wonder to admire), and Roy, in all of his newfound bitterness, kept treating the other like a child.

Nothing set the batboy off more than being called a kid. Losing his parents in front of his eyes and being taken in by Batman just to patrol the corrupted, dirty streets of Gotham at the age of nine, he liked to think he was more mature than most teenagers his age _and_ older. Sure, he was known for causing general mischief here and there – but, no one could compare when it came to keeping their cool during an especially difficult mission or working under heavy pressure.

Their verbal battles weren’t a sight to behold, all dirty words and empty threats. Occasionally, Dick would fling something at Roy, completely disregarding the fact that the other was living alone now and _perhaps_ the plate he just threw was worth more than it looked. In the other hand, from what the younger teen could collect, Roy still had access to Oliver Queen’s bank accounts, and the Chinese vase wasn’t _that_ pretty anyway.

Calling the redhead a “pathetic ginger loser”, compared to other things that flew out of Dick’s mouth, seemed to be completely harmless. _Especially_ not the “ginger” part, seeing as Grayson always had a particular fondness for that hair color, successfully keeping the information hidden from his teammates to avoid getting teased.

For Roy, however, the g-word seemed to have struck a nerve, and instead of his usual, mocking lines about Dick’s insults coming straight from kindergarten, Robin earned himself an actual, irritated reaction.

“Once again, I’m _not._ To be a full-blown ginger, you have to have freckles, genius. Do you see any on my face?” The redhead leaned in, letting Dick take a better look at his features. He had a point – the only things Robin could spot were barely visible, silver linings of old scars near Roy’s chin. Otherwise, his face was smooth and completely freckleless.

“None on your face, sure, but since when that was the only place freckles actually appeared? For all I know, you can have hundreds on your back, _ginger._ ”

\- * -

“That’s pretty gay,” Dick observed idly, shifting his weight to lean forward, hands set firmly on the redhead’s thighs for better balance.

The comment earned him a snicker, but Roy honestly didn’t find a friend sitting on his knees anything peculiar nor unnerving. Being taken in by Oliver Queen and dragged around all the parties his mentor attended, Roy could not-quite-proudly admit that he saw a lot of things people (most of them drunk and careless and _fucking stupid_ ) did and this couldn’t even begin to compare.

Sure, if someone walked in right now and saw him sprawled on the couch without a shirt, a small figure observing his chest like it’d be a national treasure, they’d probably find it questionable. But Roy lived alone now, and the only person that visited him regularly and was not currently sitting on him trying to find freckles on his collarbones was Dinah. The chance of her visiting right now was small enough for the redhead to dismiss it completely, although God knew he tended to get extremely unlucky from time to time. Nevertheless, telling Robin ‘no’ meant being called a ginger forever, and he didn’t want to be on the same level with one Wally West, a classic example of ginger, dweeb, nerd, loser and basically everything that Roy _wasn’t._

Robin sat there motionless, seemingly preoccupied with a bigger scar, running from Roy’s navel all the way to his hipbone. Raising his eyebrow a little, he waved a hand in front of the boy’s eyes, trying to recapture his attention.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nice to see someone who scars for a change, though,” Dick offered him a sheepish grin, eyes focusing back on Roy’s neck. “You know, Supey loves to run around without a shirt, but his skin is like a newborn baby’s ass. Wally heals too fast to scar, and Miss M’s skin is made of something I’d rather not hear about.”

“That was a pretty way to say you miss the sight of me, thanks,” Roy snickered again, looking down and watching Robin inspect his stomach.

“I don’t miss assholes,” Dick informed him, sliding off his knees just a few seconds later. “Turn around.”

Roy’s smirk was all teeth as he stood up, taking the chance to look down at the other one more time before sitting down again, this time with his back facing Robin. He crossed his legs comfortably, letting Dick continue his hopeless mission in peace and silence.

He never saw any freckles on his body himself – then again, who the fuck knew what was on his back? He was no acrobat, and he couldn’t bend himself like Dick could, which kind of eliminated the chance of throughly checking for any sign of freckles there.

“Found one!” Robin announced enthusiastically, poking Roy right under his left shoulder blade.

“What? No fucking way,” he tried to turn around and see, which obviously resulted in failure.

“Want me to take a pic – oh!” This time, instead of a simple poke, Dick decided for a harsh slap on the upper part of his back, right where the neck ended. It earned him a hiss, and Roy already knew what was coming. “Another one!”

“You didn’t have to – ow!” Another slap and Roy twisted, grabbing Dick’s wrist before the boy could do any more damage. “Next time, I’ll slap you back.”

But Dick just laughed, his thin wrist escaping Roy’s grasp without a bigger problem. He let his hands slide past Roy’s neck, leaning on the taller teen’s shoulders and grinning straight into his ear.

“Seriously though, should I take pictures? I’ll frame them and hang them above my bed.”

“Pass.”

He’d check if Robin was correct later, probably testing the boundaries of his spine in front of the bathroom mirror. For now, it didn’t matter, the pleasant familiarity of his friend’s warmth successfully chasing the tense atmosphere away. Silence served as their peacemaker, remnants of previous argument flying out of the window, fueled by each, slow exhale.

Dick smiled against Roy’s neck, leaning in and pressing his lips against the red, damaged skin in a long, chaste kiss. The redhead hardly even reacted, relaxed between Robin’s arms – he’d let it slip, like he let _everything else_ slip, because if Dick could be labeled, affectionate would definitely be up on the list. He was used to small touches and the famous hugs, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy them, lately more often than not.

Roy spent a long time thinking that he’d never get over his emotional deficiencies, long enough for other people to believe that as well. But Robin didn’t require him to – he was used to broken, and he was used to cold, and he could take all of Roy’s anger in and remain unaffected. He called the redhead his first friend, a title Roy didn’t think he quite deserved, because it was Robin who never turned his back on him and not vice versa. For what it was worth, Dick knew very well that Roy was always here if something happened, if not to help then at least to listen.

He’d often joke about how the two first sidekicks had to stick together, and Roy would always agree, either with a small nod or a quiet grunt of acknowledgment. Lately, however, he couldn’t stand the s-word, and even as much as whispering it out would cause an unpleasant burn on his tongue. So he corrected Dick, changing the phrase to simple ‘we should’ instead, and the smile he got in return was worth the initial embarrassment.

During times like these, he was able to understand why all these little things they shared proved to be important. He was still distant, bitter and sarcastic, despite his heartfelt attempts to stop making his own personality screw him over. But Dick didn’t pay attention to that, but to the good things instead – and Roy guessed that’s why he actually still stuck around, even despite all the mean things they said to each other almost every time they met.

After what seemed like forever, Robin withdrew, letting Roy turn around again and sit properly. He stood there for a few seconds, a pleased expression on his uncovered face, and the redhead could already see the grin dancing around Dick’s lips, just waiting to appear.

“Alright, so what about that movie? We were meant to watch something, right? Turn the TV on, I’ll get the popcorn.”

“… Yeah, sure.”

“Just none of your crappy, old tv series marathons, got it?”

“Low blow, shortpants.”

Robin just laughed, refusing to take the bait yet again. Before Roy could say anything else, the younger teen was already gone, disappearing into the kitchen (which, by the way, he probably knew better than Roy himself. The redhead was never much of a cook). He picked the remote up, toying with it for a while before turning the big TV on and leaning back, his ass sinking into the couch comfortably.

And for a second, he thought that yeah, this was nice – and if the world could stop and just stay as it was right now, then perhaps he’d be able to reach the so-called happiness. But heroes weren’t meant to be happy, and as soon as Dick would leave, his problems would come tumbling back, the sudden weight of things he had to carry all by himself breaking his shoulders slowly and surely.

For now though, he could relax, letting the pleasant domesticity of a shitty horror movie and Dick clinging to his arm take over.

It couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ last and he knew that all _too well_ , but at the moment, he simply didn’t care.


End file.
